Lifetimes Lost
by mishmish
Summary: In the aftermath of a tragedy, a man must leave his lover to join the Order.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Hogwarts are owned by J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and some other people I don't know. I do not own them and I'm not making any money off this. ****

Lifetimes Lost

By Mishmish

She turned expectantly as a gust of cold air preceded his entrance into the chamber. The breeze of his coming sent dust swirling upwards from the floorboards, and lifted her hair; the candles on the table guttered. He stood for a moment in the doorway, regarding her. He was stolid; tears started in her eyes and she bit her lip, fighting them back. When he did not move, she walked slowly to him, and he bowed his head. They stood frozen, close, but never touching. She, too, bent her head, and he stared at the soft sable locks he so longed to touch once more. Tremulously, she whispered, looking up into his face. "Is it—"

He shook his head, and his eyes were cold glass marbles, devoid of hope. Lines knit themselves into her brow and her tears streamed forth. She seemed to crumple, reaching for the cold, smooth wood of the mahogany table for support. She managed to fumble herself into a gilt chair. He sagged as well. He had no way to comfort her in this, their darkest hour. Tentatively, his own tears leaving bright trails down his pale cheeks, he reached out. She shuddered, but did not pull away, as one finger ran down her face, never disturbing the tunnels left by her weeping. He sighed, removing his finger, and turned towards the hearth. He walked to it, stretching out his white hands for a heat he did not feel. The flames danced over blackened logs, red and gold. Twisted shadows flickered through the chamber; a dark corner now illuminated, now cast once more into impenetrable darkness. She watched him, twisting the crimson cloth adorning the table unknowingly in her hands as the man brooded, leaning on the finely polished mantel. His eyes never left the dancing flames as he spoke.

"Two days."

The woman remained silent. The fire crackled as a log shifted, slipping lower in a blaze of orange sparks.

"That's all it takes. Two days, and a lifetime lost. Two lives, ruined; two lives of hope, and love, and youth. Lost, gone forever."

His voice was distant, detached, cold. She stared at him in a sort of wild horror. Still facing the fire, he lifted one hand in front of him. He gazed with a lifetime's worth of sorrow at its frozen perfection, and murmured to himself in a singsong voice, "Lost, gone forever..."

He turned, and she looked beseechingly on the face of the man she had loved. But now, his eyes, his set expression, were all so cold.

"I've got to go, Suley."

Oppressive silence descended upon the chamber. Centuries passed as she sat frozen.

"You know, and I know. He was our only hope, and he knew, too—he knew there's nothing else to be done. And—it's not right, me hanging around like this. It's only causing us both unnecessary pain. They say—they say that it's where people like me go. I could—be accepted. He'll help me, he—he's a great wizard, Suley. A great man. My leaving—it would help you to—to get over—" his voice broke off.

After several moments it started again.

"You're still there, Suley. You're young, and you've got your whole life ahead of you. You need to meet new people, move on—"

"No," she whispered, rising from her chair. "I can't. Let me—let me come with you—"

"No." Again, that cold voice she didn't recognize. Two days—whatever had happened to the man she loved? As though he had read her mind, he continued.

"I love you, Suley."

In three long strides he was standing in front of her, his fists clenched at his sides in his pain, unable to reach out.

"I know." Her murmur was barely audible and full of anguish. "I love you, too."

"But I have to go. And it's not your time—it's not your place to follow me."

The words rang through the stone chamber; it was all she could do to nod once, the tears falling. She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to assuage the pain.

Tenderly, but hesitantly, he placed a finger in the air under her chin. Automatically, she tilted her face up to him. He leaned in and very gently planted a kiss on her mouth. Then he stepped back. He turned, without further ado, and strode out of the room. His footsteps made no sound on the floor. She stared after him, her tears dry on her cheeks, and trembled with unreleased misery. His pearly white glow faded from the room, and the only light left came from the few candles and the uncomprehending fire.

She put a hand to her mouth and ran shaking fingers over her freezing lips. Vaguely, through her sorrow, she thought to herself, _I could be the only woman in the world to have kissed a ghost._


End file.
